


Drifting Roads

by queen_scribbles



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Male-Female Friendship, Mentioned Female Amell, NPC As Inquisitor, Non-Canon Inquisitor (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-06-29 13:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19830850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_scribbles/pseuds/queen_scribbles
Summary: Everyone has their limits, and Levyn Trevelyan's seen about as much death as he can stomach. When a grueling fight leaves him unconscious, knowing what he'd be returning to makes simply staying in the Fade a very tempting option.





	1. Won't Know Until We Try

**Author's Note:**

> For a dapromptexchange fill from tumblr: "A Mage Inquisitor falls into a coma after a tough battle and hasn’t woken up in weeks, but really they refuse to wake up. They would rather stay in the Fade sleeping forever then witness more death or be the cause of it. That is, until unexpected guests appear… " using Inquisitor!Jowan because I love him and feel like there's lots of potential for this particular prompt with him. (more tags to come as the story progresses)

There was nothing exalted about the Exalted Plains.

Just men and women--young or old, human or elven--fighting and dying, wolves and demons, trees and rocks, matchstick-fragile palisades.... Oh, and reanimated corpses. Couldn’t forget the reanimated corpses--

“On your left!”

Levyn instinctively dodged to the right at Sera’s warning shout and her arrow still zinged perilously close to his shoulder. “Maybe leave a slightly wider margin of error next time?!”

“Why? You got good reflexes, Inky!” she hollered cheerfully as she leapt from the boulder she’d been using as a perch, firing another arrow along the same path. This one exploded when it hit the lurching corpse. Bits of singed, leathery skin and dried-out bones went scattering through the air, making Levyn very glad he hadn’t been standing closer. There were enough reminders how much death permeated this place, he didn’t need to be showered in it, too.

Another pair of their shambling foes crumbled to a strike from Cassandra’s sword, only to be replaced by three more that clawed their way out of the ground. The Seeker huffed in irritation as she cut them down. “How do we make them stop?”

“I believe we need to reach there,” Vivienne replied, voice rising above the cacophony of battle yet still serene and collected, as she indicated the mound at the center of the palisade, a glimmer of barrier magic rising above the trenches where they struggled.

“Sounds like a plan,” Levyn said, pausing to rake hair out of his eyes before clobbering a corpse that got too close with his staff. “Any ideas on how to get there fast? This place is a maze.”

Before Vivienne or Cassandra could reply, Sera took a running leap, pushed off first the palisade wall and then Levyn’s shoulder, and landed a tier higher among the twisty path laid out by the wooden planks. “How’s that?” she gloated, then blanched--”Oh, shite!”--and came skidding back down. “There’s one of those bloody floaty demons,” she said defensively. “Th’ tall raggedy ones. Looked like it was standin’ guard, yeah?”

An arcane horror. Just what they needed to top off the unrelenting waves of undead. 

“Lovely,” Levyn muttered. _Just when I thought this couldn't get any more complicated._ He launched a bolt of flame toward a small cluster of advancing corpses. “The long way it is.”

“No time to waste, then,” Vivienne said. She blocked the path behind them with a wall of ice, granting some respite from the seemingly endless waves of corpses. 

The four took advantage of the brief gap in fighting to progress down the trench. It wasn’t far to a split, where all three of his companions looked at Levyn to make the choice. This was one of the things he hated about being Inquisitor; everyone acted like his opinion counted more--or was the only one that did--even for little things like this, because of a role he had literally fallen into. If they knew where his decisions had led in the past, for him and other, no one would trust him on anything. But they didn’t, so they did.

After hesitating longer than such a simple choice called for, he picked a direction. Worst case, it would just take a few minutes longer to find the way to center, right? But he hadn’t picked wrong, though the unrelenting forces meant it took a while to be sure. The final ramp came into view just as the arcane horror glided down to join the fray. Cassandra and Vivienne immediately turned their attention to that, while Sera and Levyn continued handling the weaker--if more numerous--corpses.

“Inquisitor! The barrier!” Cassandra hollered as she swung at the horror. It pulled back at the last second and her blade only caught the trailing rags of its robe.

Levyn’s head snapped toward the magical shield. She was right; whatever that protected was likely the cause of the restless dead. He stumbled back from the clumsy sweep of a corpse’s blade and headed for the ramp. Even more undead emerged to harry him, but were quickly distracted by the peppering of arrows. Levyn half-smiled. That was another one he owed Sera.

Once he had a clear line of sight on the barrier, he let loose. The faint blue shimmer made him think it was ice-based magic. This should be easy then; the enchantment on his staff made even basic attacks fire-based. In that sense he was right, and the barrier flickered dramatically after the first fiery bolt made contact.

But the undead wailed and the horror screamed and all of them redoubled their attacks with that first hit. Undead fingers tore at Levyn’s arm and he heard Sera yell a string of obscenities. He didn’t need to be told to hurry(though both Sera and Cassandra yelled things to that effect). Rapidly as he could, he fired several more bolts and and a larger fire spell at the barrier until it flickered and died. Enough of the fire spell’s power carried through to ignite whatever was inside, and his guess was proven correct. As... whatever it was burned, the remaining undead gave a final howl--rage or anguish, Levyn couldn’t tell--and dropped like stringless puppets. Vivienne had already finished off the horror, but its frozen remains quickly disintegrated with the magic responsible gone.

As the adrenaline faded, Levyn’s arm started to throb where one of the corpses had clawed at him, and he spared it a glance while shuffling toward the still burning pit. The corpse had torn through his sleeve, but it didn’t appear to have broken skin. _That’s a relief._ Magically awakened or no, dead bodies carried the risk of disease, and he had enough to worry about without adding _that_. Especially when he drew close enough to see the pit’s contents.

Bodies. Dozens of them. Stacked like the kindling they’d become and now burned beyond any hope recognition. Thanks to him. The thought was ridiculous--more proof of his penchant for self-flagellation than actually true--but still pushed into his head. He pushed it back out, faster than normal, even. He was neither the one who killed these people or the one who used their bodies for some grotesque ritual. Still, death was writ large across every facet of this region; he really didn’t need to be smacked in the face by so vivid a reminder.

He couldn’t stop staring at them, though. Couldn’t help wondering who they were, who they loved and loved them. What they’d been protecting. What they’d _died_ protecting. The weight of it was overwhelming and hit hard enough to make his knees wobble.

Levyn sat down hard, raising a small puff of dirt from in between the planks of the walkway.

“You alright?” Sera asked as she joined him, lip curling in disgust when she peeked in the pit. “Eugh.”

“No, I’m not alright,” Levyn retorted. He raked one hand through his hair--completing the destruction of his ponytail from that morning--then braced his elbows on his knees to bury his face in his hands. The Mark hummed faintly so close to his ear. _Have to ask Solas about that._.. “There’s so much _death_ , and they don’t seem ready to stop anytime soon and what’s the damned _point_ of us being here?!”

Sera was actually quiet for a moment, and when he looked up at her, she was staring at him, eyes narrowed and head cocked. “To make it better,” she said slowly.

“Can we?” he asked bitterly. His own past attempts at making things better had only ever made them worse.

“Maybe not all better,” Sera shrugged and plopped down next to him. “But even somethin’ is better’n nothing. We gotta _try_ , yeah?”

“Yeah, I guess...” Levyn said, his voice quiet. _You sound like Trinne._ Not for the first time, he thought idly that his best friend and the blonde elf would hit it off. It was better than dwelling on the sight in front of him. He lowered one hand to run through the powdery dirt. “Not even sure how we can do _something_ with the state of this place.”

“Won’t know til we try.”

He snorted, but the cynical remark he was about to make died in his throat as his fingers snagged on something that gave more than wood or stone. Frowning in confusion, Levyn dug out the small roll of parchment. He uncurled it to scan the contents.

“Whatcha got?” Sera asked, crowding his space to look for herself.

“It’s...” Levyn’s stomach turned as he read. “It’s the steps for this ritual.” He flicked off some dirt. “And a sketchy map of some locations... including here.” There was a note scrawled below the map, in a different hand than the ritual. _‘Do as we have planned and all the forces Orlais or the Inquisition have at their disposal will be too busy to do much harm. -M’_

“So, wait...” Sera tugged the parchment out of Levyn’s hands to better glare at it. “Some friggin’ pisshead mage did this to distract us?! We’re gonna find him, yeah?”

Levyn nodded. “Of course. But if there are other spots they’ve done this” --he waved a hand toward the pit--”we have to deal with those first.”

Sera scowled even harder at the parchment. “Bloody friggin’ mages don’t give a shite about _people_.” She huffed out a breath in a raspberry. “Why can’t more of ‘em be like you?”

He had to bite his lip so as not to snort. _If she only knew..._ The last thing she’d want would be more mages like him. “The Maker only puts so many shy, awkward types in a generation, I’m afraid,” he deadpanned instead. “Otherwise nothing would ever get done.”

She rolled her eyes and slugged his shoulder--hard enough it actually hurt. “That’s not what I _meant_. You’re a good sort, yeah? Not lettin’ the power go to your head, tryin’ to do good. Even if y’ do give up too easy sometimes,” she teased, scrambling to her feet as Cassandra and Vivienne approached. She gave Levyn’s head a light, playful shove and brandished the parchment toward the approaching women. “The Inquisitor found somethin’!”

Levyn got to his feet as well, gathering his hair back to redo his ponytail. The sheer scale of how messed up the Plains were was still overwhelming, but at least this was something solid they could do to help. Even if only a little. “Won’t know until we try,” he whispered to himself.

Cassandra and Vivienne finished their examination of the parchment and looked his way.

“I assume we plan to deal with this in all haste,” Cassandra said. One hand tightened around her sword hilt, and Levyn wondered if her knuckles were white under the heavy metal gauntlet.

He nodded. “It’s a clear and worthwhile goal, so, yes. Better than walking around killing random pockets of hostile forces and sealing any rifts we find.”

Vivienne arched a brow at the tacit admission he hadn’t had a plan up til now but kept the conversation on track. “Well, then, where are we going first?”

“Assuming this map is accurate... there should be another of these pits over that way.” He pointed off northeast from where they stood, though the palisades in question were so distant as to be a vague silhouette through the lingering haze of smoke. “It’s closer than the others, so we should probably start there.”

“After you, Inquisitor.” She gestured toward the ramp down. “We’ll follow your lead, as always.”

As with a lot of his interactions with her, Levyn couldn’t help but feel this was some kind of test. That he was being measured by some unknown standard(and probably falling short). He knew enough to never come right out and ask, of course, but the feeling was still there.

In this case, it was interrupted by Sera darting the opposite direction from where they needed to go. “Hold on!” She skidded to a halt by a large horn, likely used for communicating warnings or all clears to other ramparts. She took a deep breath and blew hard, looking satisfied with the resulting blast of sound. “That was fun, yeah? Now we can go.”

They picked their way out through the palisade maze--much easier when not being hassled by undead--and traveled to the indicated section of ramparts. There they found more of what they’d already faced; walking corpses led by an arcane horror to guard a pit full of dead. And they dealt with it the same--(re)killed the undead, destroyed the protective barrier, and set the piled corpses burning to break whatever magic they’d fueled. It had proven a small but welcome blessing that this section of the palisades was more straightforward than the last. It gave Sera a clearer shot with her bow, and Levyn and Vivienne with their magic. Still, they were all sweaty, and all but Vivienne disheveled by the time they caught their breath.

“And we get to do that two more times,” Levyn muttered with sarcastic enthusiasm as he wiped grime off his face from getting knocked in the dirt(twice) by this horror. 

“But we’re _hel_ -ping,” Sera singsonged as she reclaimed what arrows she could. “Creepy as these bastards are, we kill them and whoever did this, maybe after the war, people can come back ‘stead of havin’ to find new homes.”

“We can only hope,” Cassandra said. “On to the next one?”

This one there were some living foes scattered among the undead, and Levyn got to show just how bad he could be at dodging. The ability to think for themselves made the men more of a threat than the corpses, but he and his companions did prevail. Vivienne set this pit ablaze while Levyn healed the injuries he’d sustained and Cassandra examined the bodies of the (formerly) living attackers.

“Freemen of the Dales,” the Seeker reported grimly as she stood. “We’ve had reports of them being trouble, both here and the Emerald Graves, but nothing on this scale.”

“Apparently they got tired of not being taken seriously,” Levyn said. He vaguely remembered Leliana giving some such caution at a War Council meeting. But he’d still been reeling from Adamant at the time and only half paying attention as a result. “So now we have to deal with them on top of the two Orlesian factions. And predatory wildlife. And demons.” Maker above, he was so _tired_. Whenever they got back to Skyhold, he wanted to sleep for a week. (he wouldn’t, of course, there was too much for The Inquisitor to do.) “At least we’re halfway done with this. Maybe we can clear out one threat before we need to rest.”

“Sounds good,” Sera nodded, tossing a half-full potion bottle back and forth between her hands. “Sooner we don’t have to worry ‘bout creepy undead things the better.”

The next of the ritual pits was even more complicated to reach than the first one; the path a mix of trenches and walkways, some walled on the side which cut down line of sight. And every step was harried by undead. It was exhausting and irritating in equal measure, and Levyn’s frustration at their slowed progress built until, with their goal in sight, he snapped. Mindful of their largely wooden surroundings and the narrowness of these trenches, he’d been shying away from fire spells til now. But with his temper strained to the breaking point, he whirled around, slammed the butt of his staff into the dust, and immolated a large cluster of the lurching corpses. The undead burned to ash in seconds, but the flames that caught the palisades lingered and grew, and suddenly there was a line of flame racing down the trench wall away from him. Even as Levyn winced at that unintended consequence, someone screamed.

A door none of them had noticed in the now-burning palisade slammed open and an Orlesian soldier stumbled out, screeching in pain and swatting futilely at the flames that wreathed his armor.

Levyn’s heart gave a sickening lurch and he froze in horror. _**No-**_ Somewhere behind him, Sera swore, and one of her Tempest vials came arcing into his field of vision. It hit the soldier’s back and shattered, erupting in a cloud of cold mist that doused most of the flames.

But it was too late. Even as the flames sizzled out the soldier tottered and collapsed. Levyn forced his legs to move, approaching the fallen form with stiff and halting steps, knowing his companions could handle the arcane horror. _Three on one, they’ll be fine..._

It was as he’d feared, though; when he reached the soldier, the man was dead. _This is my fault **. I** did this. _Guilt rose in a choking, paralyzing surge, and all he could do was stare at the body.

“Inquisitor, we need to move on.” He didn’t register which of them was said it-- probably Cassandra, as it was her hand that came to rest on his shoulder.

“I killed him,” he mumbled in response.

“Not on purpose,” Sera countered. “You didn’t know he was there, yeah?”

“Still-” He’d always known his poor decisions would get someone killed. He’d just expected it to be _him_.

“My dear, much as I appreciate your conscience,” Vivienne interrupted crisply, “We really should complete our task.”

“Why?” Levyn demanded with a listless shrug. “What’s the point of trying to stop all this _death_ when apparently even _I_ can’t help but contribute to the loss of innocent life.”

“He was hardly an _innocent_ , Inquisitor,” Vivienne said, her tone firm yet caring. “He is a soldier, and wearing Gaspard’s colors. He very likely would have attacked us on sight.” Her expression softened, and she lightly rested one hand on his arm. “I understand you’re feeling guilty, but you don’t need to, and _we_ need to carry on.”

She was right and he knew it, which helped shake off most of the fog. But he couldn’t entirely shake the guilt that had wormed its way in.

Even as this pit and the next each blazed in turn. Even when they had to fight a small knot of Gaspard’s soldiers, lending veracity to Vivienne’s point. They were supposed to be helping, and he’d just contributed to the problem.

 _Awfully arrogant to think I--of **all people** \--could make this better_, he thought moodily when they stopped to catch their breath. On some level, honestly, he’d been waiting to screw _something_ up. Just because he’d managed to lead the Inquisition so far didn’t mean he was actually good at it.

An Inquisition scout ran up, breathing hard and so pale her freckles stood out like inkblots against her skin. Her shoulders dipped in relief when she approached and she inclined her head respectfully. “Was hopin’ that was you, Your Worship. Ain’t easy findin’ people in this sh- place. I’m t’ tell you... that is, we’ve been scoutin’ things out and found what looks like the Freemen’s stronghold out here.” She held up a rolled piece of parchment, which Levyn wearily took. “Whether you wanna avoid the place til we have more forces here, or go deal with ‘em y’selves is up to you, of course, but Scout Harding said to keep you informed.”

“Consider me informed,” Levyn said with a tired smile.

“Very good, Your Worship. Best of luck.” She placed her fist over her heart and bowed before scurrying away.

“Opinions?” he asked the others as he studied the rough map Harding or someone had sketched for them. “This isn’t far from here, but we’ve already done a lot of fighting; this might be pushing it.”

“I’d rather not give them the chance to regroup or dig in,” Cassandra said. She frowned at the map. “This _is_ quite close. I say we push through and finish them off now.”

“Yeah, sounds good to me,” Sera nodded.

“We may as well,” Vivienne concurred.

Levyn saw their point, agreed with it even, but it still took a few seconds of extra determination to actually push back to his feet. “Then we’ll deal with it.” Once they got this out of the way, maybe they could get some sleep at one of the Inquisition camps before moving on to the next thing.

The map indicated a series of ravines that led to the encampment entrance, which Levyn and his friends used to their advantage. Any extra cover they could get was helpful. And it worked; the Freemen didn’t notice their approach until they had practically reached the wooden gate.

“ _The Inquisition!_ ” a muffled shout went up, and after that, skulking was pointless.

Cassandra shattered the gate with a couple hefty blows from her shield, and cut down the man waiting on the other side before he had a chance to swing at her.

Given that this group had attacked on sight, Levyn felt far less guilty setting their palisade ablaze. None of the Freemen were hurt by the flames, but they _were_ all flushed into the open, where it was much easier to finish them off. It was another blessing, with the tight confines of the area, that there were no mages or heavier shield bearers here. Either one could have turned the narrow passage into a nightmare. Even as things stood it was a tough fight.

“Maker, I hope we’re close,” Levyn panted, wiping sweat and soot off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Not sure how much more of this I have in me.”

“We gotta be,” Sera said cheerfully as they watched Cassandra batter open the second gate. “Can’t imagine these pissheads had time to put much into even their stronghold, not with how flimsy these bits are.”

It was hard to tell if she was right; the palisades on the other side of the gate zigzagged like a maze, severely restricting line of sight and thus their ability to prepare. They advanced cautiously, weapons in hand, Levyn and Vivienne with spells at the ready. There were a couple more Freemen, but the constant wariness was more draining than they were really worth. The palisade maze finally dumped out in a large open space, no cover near enough to even attempt a stealthy approach. They were, of course, immediately spotted by a trio of Freemen who drew their swords, one yelling, “Gordian! Inquisition!” as he assumed a ready stance.

Too slow-- Cassandra slammed her shield into his face before his feet were set and sent him reeling with blood streaming from his nose. He only stumbled back a handful of steps before gathering himself and charging her. She cut him down with a single sweep of her sword.

Over the heads of their close-quarters opposition, Levyn could see a man, a mage, standing with hands raised over a pit very similar to the others they’d burned today. His voice was rising in pitch, usually a sign the invocation was nearly done.

“ _Don’t let him finish!_ ” Levyn hollered, firing a bolt of magic toward the mage--presumably Gordian. He missed due to the chaos, but saw the man flinch.

Sera followed his lead, leaping over an attacker as she fired a pair of arrows at Gordian. They both stuck in the man’s ridiculous turban-like hat and he bared his teeth briefly before continuing.

Levyn briefly dodged another Freeman, only vaguely aware of what his companions were doing as he focused in on Gordian. He couldn’t let him finish casting, he _couldn’t._ The Plains had already seen too much misery, and this would make the fight so much harder-

With a faint shimmer, the purple tinted barrier rose over the enchanted--cursed?--pit. Gordian looked up with a smirk of grim satisfaction and narrowed his eyes. “Now to deal with you, Inquisitor!” 

His staff flared, and a bolt of bluish-white ice magic came rocketing toward Levyn. 

He dodged out of the way, reaching for loose bits of the Fade to hasten his steps, and came to a stop a good six or seven feet from where he’d started. Levyn took a second to orient himself and retaliated with an energy barrage, the orange lights dancing in twisted trails toward their target. He barely paused before following up with several basic arcane attacks, but Gordian had summoned a barrier, so none of them really did much damage. He growled softly in frustration and glanced toward his companions. They were all occupied fighting reanimated corpses that had clawed their way out of the ground.

Vivienne did met his eye and fling a lightning bolt at Gordian as a brief distraction, but the Freemen leader proved tenacious in his focus.

“Deal with the pit!” Levyn hollered, pulling up a barrier of his own as Gordian sent a barrage of cold energy his way. None of his companions acknowledged hearing him, but they all started moving toward the shielded pit. _Let’s see what’s more important to you_ , Levyn thought grimly, _Protecting your ritual or trying to kill me._

It proved to be the latter, as Gordian pressed his attack with renewed ire. Levyn dodged what he could, fired back with spells of his own, constantly moving to present a more difficult target(for all the good it did).

Gordian snarled what sounded like a curse and a huge arc of lightning spidered from his staff in Levyn’s direction. He instinctively reached for the Fade again, using it as impetus to speed his steps as he bolted away.

Too late, he saw the blue-white glyph on the ground, softly pulsing and directly in his path. His Fade-assisted lunge carried him over the worst of it even as _Nonono_ \- started circling his mind, but he did trigger the held spell. With no one to freeze, the ice fragmented and shot out in all directions. Luckily or not, depending on how you looked at it, Levyn was the only one close enough for it to hit. Razor-sharp chunks of ice sliced through leather and cloth to gouge open his side, and the momentum of impact sent him tumbling. 

He could hear Cassandra and Sera’s shouts of dismay, feel sweat trickling between his shoulder blades and the sharp-edged pain radiating from his injuries, but what he _couldn’t_ do was get up. He was too sore, too _spent_ , limbs trembling with fatigue as he tried anyway. He made it to his knees, hand instinctively going to his wounded side as he looked for Gordian.

When he found him. the Freeman mage was stalking toward him, wolfish grin pulling at his lips.

With his staff dropped a good five feet behind him, Levyn reached out his marked hand, desperate enough to risk one of the new abilities Your Trainer had taught him. He grasped for the Fade’s essence again, the Mark flickering as the power _answered_ him in a dizzying rush. He curled his hand into a fist and _pulled_ , and the trickling, whirling essence of the Fade followed. A blunt pulse of pale green energy slammed Gordian into the ground before dissipating as Levyn loosened his grasp. He swayed, blinking from _how much power_ such a light tug had given, and took his hand from his side to try standing again. All he accomplished was leaving a bloody handprint smeared in the dirt.

Gordian was not nearly so slow regaining his feet. After only a moment’s pause to gather himself he fired off another barrage of cold magic toward Levyn.

A barrier shimmered to life just before they impacted and absorbed most of the force. A barrier Levyn was too drained to have cast himself.

 _Vivienne,_ he thought numbly. _They must have dispelled the enchantment on the pit._ While the barrier did shield him from the intended damage, the mere force of impact was enough to topple him.

_“Inquisitor!!”_

He wasn’t sure who the shout had come from; his attention was largely consumed by the black creeping in around the edges of his vision and the ragged rhythm of his breathing in his ears. He clung to consciousness just long enough to see Vivienne sweep in and cut down Gordian with her spirit blade, the magic shimmering almost emphatically, long enough to gather that they’d won, before surrendering to the siren call of _rest_.


	2. Cause for Concern

Sera let loose a string of coarse and creative words as the Inquisitor started to crumple, and while Cassandra couldn’t endorse the exact word _choice,_ she heartily echoed the sentiment. This fight had gone much worse than she anticipated, starting with the lack of opportunity to prepare. It had only spiraled out from there, and now she’d failed to protect the Inquisitor, which was always her primary role on these ventures. She _protected_ , stood between danger and the less armored members of their group--him most of all. Both as her friend and the Inquisition’s leader, she had every reason to keep him safe.

And she’d failed in that duty, thanks to the crawling hordes of undead that slowed her down.

Vivienne got the satisfaction of the killing blow on the man responsible. She twitched her staff out of the way as a blade of spirit magic materialized in the other hand. The shimmering blade sliced cleanly through Gordian’s back in what Cassandra knew to be a deathblow.

Even as the Freemen leader fell, the three women turned as one toward their own leader, lying in an ominously still heap.

“Vivienne-” Cassandra began, still catching her breath.

Vivienne raised a hand to cut her off, already moving toward Trevelyan. “Say no more, my dear.”

With the matter of healing in the best hands it could be, Cassandra looked over at Sera. “Salvage what arrows you can, and anything else of value they may carry.”

The elf’s brow furrowed, and she rocked on the balls of her feet, darting a nervous look at the Inquisitor. “What about...?”

“Vivienne will tend to him,” Cassandra assured her. She wasn't happy about this, either. “You and I get to search the fallen for things that be of use to us. Coin, weapons, information, things like that.”

Sera nodded jerkily, kicked Gordian’s corpse in the head a couple times for good measure, and darted off to search the foot soldiers near the entrance. Cassandra rolled Gordian’s body onto its back before she knelt to rifle his pockets. At first she didn’t find anything of particular interest, but the satchel hanging from his belt yielded a fair prize: A neatly folded stack of letters bound together with twine. Further inspection revealed them to be correspondence with the Freemen leadership in the Emerald Graves. Leliana would be very interested in seeing these; anything to give her people in the region an edge. That was all he carried, aside from a handful of coin and shiny baubles he’d likely stripped from the corpses that fueled his Maker-forsaken ritual.

Her investigation complete, Cassandra pushed to her feet and went to join Vivienne. She would be useless at healing the Inquisitor’s wounds, but she could watch out from any new threats. Sera was only a few steps behind her, and made a noise of irritated dismay when they drew close enough to see Trevelyan was still unconscious, despite the soft glow of healing magic cradled in Vivienne’s palms.

“Thought you were gonna fix him, why ain’t he awake?” she groused, kicking the dirt near his feet.

Vivienne looked up with an expression of practiced patience, her hands lingering near the Inquisitor’s bloodstained shirt. “I can mend the body, my dear, but some things are beyond even magic to accomplish.”

Cassandra frowned at that. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Vivienne said, “his injuries are healed, he’s in no danger from those, but he was exhausted even before we began this fight. Did you not notice?” The magic around her hands dimmed and she stood. “He very likely pushed himself beyond what he should, and now his body is forcing him to get the rest he needs. There’s no cause for concern as of yet. I would suggest we transport him to one of the nearby Inquisition outposts and simply let him sleep. It should only take a day, two at most, for him to be sufficiently rested and wake on his own.”

“An’ if he friggin’ doesn’t?” Sera asked, storm clouds in her eyes.

A troubled expression flickered across Vivienne’s face, there and gone so fast Cassandra almost wondered if she’d imagined it. “Then we would be best served returning, with him, to Skyhold, and seeking... alternate methods to aid his recovery. Should it come to that, then there may indeed be cause for concern.”


	3. Truly Brave

Something was tickling his cheek. He swatted at it lazily, without opening his eyes.

 _"IIIInky... Inky, wake up...."_ Sera's voice drifted faintly around him. Of course it was her, probably armed with a blade of grass and a huge shit-eating grin. No matter how many times he groused at her for waking him like that, she showed no inclination to stop. The tickling only paused for a moment before resuming. He batted it away more forcefully this time, pushing himself upright. “ _How many_ t-”

The words died when he opened his eyes. There was no sign of Sera. Or Cassandra, Vivienne, the Exalted Plains in general. His surroundings, however, were far from unfamiliar.

“Oh,” Levyn breathed as he looked around the hazy, muted landscape of the Fade. He wasn’t physically _here_ this time, he could tell that much. Things were duller, less present than at Adamant or when he acquired the Anchor. But it wasn’t quite like an average _dream_ , either.

It was somewhere in between, he mused as he pushed to his feet and raked hair out of his eyes. There was a vague ache in his side, but no evidence of the injuries he knew he’d sustained when he looked down. It felt... like the way Trinne described her Harrowing (even though she knew she shouldn’t tell him). Or like he’d experienced himself in Redcliffe, more than a decade ago, when she trusted him (despite all the reasons not to) with fixing his own mistakes. In that case he was even more lost than if he _had_ physically come here. 

“So...” He sighed, brushing his hand through the nearly waist high clump of spindleweed-like plants that had awakened him. If you could call it "awakening" in the Fade. “...what now?”

Levyn knew what he should do, of course. He should look for a way out. A way to wake up, to get back to his friends, to his duty, to _‘saving the world’_. But, Maker help him, the thought made him drag his feet. He was tired; tired of fighting, tired of seeing death, of causing it, tired of the whole damn world sitting on his shoulders.

 _Why hurry back to **that**?_ a voice whispered in his ear, cold and smooth as the icy lake outside Haven. A shiver ran down his spine in response. _Saving the world is too much for one person, what can someone like you do to stem the tide of loss and pain? Why put yourself through that? What’s the point?_

A small corner of him wanted to argue--they were helping, even if it was arduously slow as inches up a mountainside--but too much more had entertained similar doubts. And really, was it so bad to want a break? Especially when the world he’d left held so much death? Would anyone blame him if he took his time finding a way back?

If he bothered to do it at all. It would be so easy to just stay. The world might even be better off if he did.

Whatever course he took in the end, it wouldn’t hurt to explore a little. See what he could find without a time limit or demon to kill hanging over his head. Anything was better than just standing here; there was no goal he could serve like that. Levyn picked a direction and started walking, slowly, the shiver from the cold voice lingering at the nape of his neck.

\---

Time in the Fade was a fickle, almost tricky, thing. Levyn felt like he’d been walking for hours, but his surroundings had hardly changed. There was nothing new, nothing different--even the Black City hanging in the greenish haze of distant-but-not-too never seemed any closer or farther away. For all he knew he’d been going in circles. It made him wonder how long it had really been. It could have been minutes, could have been days. The freedom from knowing was both exhilarating and unnerving. 

He paused to look more closely at one of the feathery plants covering a nearby hillock. There were clumps all around, almost as prevalent as the ones that looked like spindleweed, and he couldn’t fight his curiosity any more. The wide, feathery leaves caught against his fingertips, as if barbed, just too small to hurt. Only on the underside, though; the deep purple tops were smooth and soft as velvet.

A pair of wisps drifted past, tracing loops around each other as they danced through the air. With nothing better to do, Levyn decided to follow them. Maybe they were heading somewhere more interesting. He’d seen just about everything here. He hadn’t been following them long(best he could tell, anyway) when he heard a sound-- all the more alien for being the first one aside from his own voice he’d heard since he got here.

_Tang._

It was muffled, but sharp and metallic. And something about it was familiar.

_Tang **ting**_

The wisps bounced off each other and twirled away in opposite directions. Both over what looked like sheer drops to him.

_Tangting._

“Not like I have anything better to do...” Levyn muttered to himself, continuing toward the sound. It really was familiar, enough that it bothered him he couldn’t place it.

_Tingggg._

He rounded the final obstacle--a tree with trailing branches that was not quite a willow and floating a couple inches off the ground--and could see the source of the sound. The glimmering form of what could only be a spirit stood there, in broad strokes the shape of a human man wearing armor. It was hammering away diligently at a short, serrated blade on an anvil. The sound of the blows was slightly off from reality(like when Trinne would try to copy something from his sketchbook), but still close enough he should have recognized it.

The spirit looked up, as if it sensed his presence. Maybe it had. “Ah. A visitor.” The voice was echoey but strong. Firm. “Is this another of the mages’ cowardly tests? Is that why you have come?”

“Huh?” Levyn frowned and shook his head in confusion as he walked closer.”No, I’m...” _Running away. Hiding. Shirking my self-imposed atonement_. “...exploring,” he finished lamely.

“Indeed? I do not see many with that goal here.” The spirit straightened, setting aside the hammer and reaching for a length of wood. “I am Valor,” it explained proudly, as it bound the newly-forged blade to the end of the wood. “I forge and hone weapons in search of the perfect expression of combat.” It twisted the staff, running two fingers along the wood, leaving a corkscrew pattern in the surface. “Expressions of my nature that can be wielded by the heroic.” It wrapped one hand around the top of the staff and squeezed. When it let go, there was a deep red crystal, swirled with orange, attached to the wood, grafted to it more perfectly than any mortal smith could ever manage. Valor met Levyn’s eyes and held the completed staff out toward him. “Like you.”

He snorted incredulously, holding out one hand as if to ward off the gift. “You have me confused with someone else.”

Valor shook its head. “You think I cannot recognize my very nature in another? Mortal or no?”

He gave a sharp, sarcastic laugh, backing up a step. “Now I _know_ you’re confused. All I ever do when it counts is run away.” _I’m even doing it right now...._

Valor lowered the staff and cocked its head. “Are you not the Inquisitor? The ripples of your last visit are felt still, and tell a very different tale.”

“I...” Levyn sighed and raked one hand through his hair. “I am, but it’s... complicated.” _I shouldn’t be._

“You fight to protect the innocent, do you not? Stand between them and great danger?” Valor looked between him and the staff. 

“...when I can.” Levyn looked down at his hand, the faint shimmer of the Mark hiding an older, deeper scar. One that had shamed him every day for more than a decade.

“Bravely facing death, particularly for others, seems-”

“But I’m _ **not**_!” he burst out, cutting off the spirit. “I’m not brave at all; the things we fight, I’m usually _terrified_.”

“And yet you still fight,” Valor smiled. “That, Inquisitor, is the beating heart of Valor. True courage allows fear, but is never overwhelmed by it.”

“I think you’re giving me more credit that I’m due,” Levyn said softly, rubbing his arm. He had goosebumps and wasn't sure why.

Valor shook its head again. “And I think you have so thoroughly convinced yourself of your cowardice you struggle to believe any who would gainsay that view.”

He didn’t really have a reply for that. He’d spent so long pretending--to be more confident, to be more courageous, to be _more_ than he felt. Perhaps he had overcompensated on reminding himself they weren’t true. _This is just a mask,_ he’d made his mantra, _so they don’t suspect how out of your depth you are._ Maybe it wasn’t true anymore. Maybe he’d picked up some of the courage he’d been pretending to have.

But no. A truly brave individual wouldn’t be hiding from their responsibilities in the Fade. A truly brave individual would be trying to escape, not looking for excuses to linger. They would face life’s difficulties instead of running away. Like Cassandra. Or Trinne. Definitely not him.

“Maybe,” he finally said with a halfhearted shrug. He lacked the energy to argue this in circles with a spirit.

“You remain unconvinced,” Valor said. “Understandable, when courage has so long been a mask.”

Levyn squirmed. He’d thought Cole being uncannily perceptive was due to the _kind_ of spirit he was. Apparently it was spirits in general. HE didn't much care for it.

“Such masks are difficult for my kind to grasp,” Valor continued, “as our true nature is our very being. I see valor in you, Inquisitor, whether you would believe it or not.” It held out the staff again. “For your journeys.”

Levyn held up his hands to refuse it again. “I’m not here to _fight._ I'm _so tired_ of fighting. I just want.... rest. A chance to breathe." _An escape._ "Even if I deserved such a weapon, I don’t need it.”

“The Fade can be quite perilous,” Valor said sternly, in the tone of a teacher with a difficult student, still holding out the staff. “You should not travel unguarded, for the demons care little about your own intentions. They will see only a potential meal-- or potential host.”

He hesitated. Tired as he was of fighting, the thought of encountering a demon with no easy means of defending himself was distinctly unappealing. But accepting the staff now would feel like a tacit acceptance of Valor’s claims as well.

And he wasn’t ready to do that. Yet.

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted, flames dancing briefly around his fingers. _I always have this, if I need it._

And he turned and walked away, not looking back until the image of Valor still holding out the staff had faded from his mind’s eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking I had until the next chapter before we got heavily into headcanon/backstory references, but apparently I was wrong. So, short version, this being Inquisitor!Jowan, Redcliffe a decade ago was the whole Eamon and Connor mess from Origins. Trinne (Amell) chose to have Jowan go into the Fade to defeat the desire demon, then helped him escape when it was clear even doing that wasn't going to buy him much mercy. Long version on my [ tumblr](https://queen-scribbles.tumblr.com/post/171488856587/inquisitorjowan)


	4. Hope

Levyn walked for long enough he lost track again after leaving Valor. Long enough for the tug of the spirit’s words to fade. Somewhere in his wanderings, a wisp floated up and kept pace with him, occasionally drifting higher to trace a large circle over his head. It always returned to hover over his left shoulder, though. He wondered if it was one of the ones he’d seen earlier, or a new one. There wasn’t really any way to tell. It didn’t do anything suspicious, and honestly, having something that resembled company was nice, so he let it stay.

“Y’know, my best friend used to love wisps,” he commented. “She would summon them all the time to read when we were supposed to be sleeping.” He chuckled wryly. “I never had a knack for it. Or much of anything.”

The wisp trilled in what sounded like combined sympathy and encouragement. 

“Oh, I’m _alright_ as a mage,” Levyn clarified, glancing over at the glowing creature. “Just never anything special. Which was all the more glaringly obvious being best friends with one of the most talented apprentices in the tower.” The wisp trilled again and he rolled his eyes. “I’m not _jealous._ Maybe I _was_ , a little, at the time, but... that’s so far in the past now it seems almost silly to dwell on.” _Twenty years past and counting..._

The wisp bobbed down to brush against his shoulder and Levyn smirked.

“Do people do this a lot?” he asked with a chuckle. “Blather endlessly at you while they’re here?”

The wisp shot off in a short zigzag pattern in front of him before returning to its perch over his shoulder.

“I have no idea what that means,” Levyn admitted, running his fingers through his hair to rake it out of his eyes.

The wisp gave a resigned hum and fell back in its old pattern.

They traveled like that a ways more, until he stepped where there should have been ground but wasn’t and tumbled--right toward the edge. The ground had enough of an incline he couldn’t stop himself in time and went plummeting over with a yelp. Freefalling in the Fade was terrifying on its own, but he had plenty of momentum to keep him twisting around as he fell.

Fortunately, he didn’t fall very far.

Unfortunately, it was still far enough to drive the air from his lungs when he impacted with the ground.

He lay there for a minute, wincing and staring up at the unchanging green-haze sky as he tried to catch his breath. “This is technically a _dream_ ,” he muttered between clenched teeth. “It doesn’t have to be so damn realistic.”

The wisp spiraled down to join him, cooing in what might’ve been relief when it found him--relatively--unharmed. It hovered almost anxiously nearby, waiting for him to sit up.

“Alright, alright, give me a second,” Levyn grunted. “Falling’s a bigger deal for some of us.” He levered himself up on one elbow, morbidly curious where he’d landed.

The first thing he saw was the bookshelves. Second was that they took up almost all the space, as this was not a particularly large island, and wasn’t connected to anything else. Third was that--unlike some of the bookshelves he’d passed here--these looked full of _actual books._ They weren’t just set dressing, something conjured by an inquisitive spirit to look like the real thing while actually being one solid piece.

Levyn pushed to his feet and tucked back loose wisps of hair, rolling his shoulders to clear the lingering soreness before approaching the nearest shelf to scan the titles. The three shelves closest to eye level were all things the Chantry had banned or restricted. He raised an eyebrow and quickly skimmed the rest of the spines. The Dissonant Verses, multiple tomes on Tevinter culture, a couple on the finer points of blood magic that brought a sharp, unpleasant tingle to the nape of his neck... Book after book proved to cover topics at the very least frowned upon by the Chantry. The irony of _him_ finding this was astounding on multiple levels.

He rested his hand atop _Fortikum Kadab_ , simply because it was closest, and gave an experimental tug. The book slid halfway off the shelf with no resistance.

“Well,” Levyn murmured, glancing at the empty space that surrounded him, “if I have to stay here, at least I won’t be bored.” There were enough books on these shelves to occupy him for years, even in the waking world where time mattered. (Trinne would be _so jealous_.) Having no real interest in _Fortikum Kadab,_ he pushed it back into place. Just below it sat a trio of books on advanced entropy magic. Wasn’t hard to figure why they were here; the line between entropy and blood magic was blurry enough even in the best circumstances. Surely more advanced entropy spells pushed that boundary even further. The wisp dipped closer and trilled in curiosity.

“Trinne would love to see these,” he said under his breath, picking at the spines of the books before sliding one out. Couldn’t hurt to read it, right? Wasn’t as if entropy was his field. That had always been Trinne’s favorite.

The wisp swayed back and forth overhead in a lazy crescent as he read, and eventually Levyn tuned it out. Two or three books in, he looked up and noticed it was gone.

 _Must’ve gotten bored of me_ , he mused, feeling slightly guilty as he fingered to pages of his current book(a volume on some of the starker, more unpleasant bits of Grey Warden history that was making him miss Trinne something awful). He hadn’t asked the wisp to befriend him, but he had enjoyed its company. Especially since he was in no hurry to get back to the waking world. He was mildly curious where it had gotten to, but it wasn’t as if he could track it down. He didn’t imagine something with such limited intelligence had much in the way of an attention span.For all he knew it had simply forgotten about him and floated away like dandelion fluff on the breeze, an image that made him miss Sera. 

He turned his attention back to the book and continued reading. When he finished, he picked another. And then another. And another, until he had a stack next to him of finished books that would have meant a day or two’s worth of uninterrupted reading in the waking world, as well as a sore back and stiff neck from sitting crosslegged on the floor to read them all. He had neither--another benefit to the Fade, Levyn mused as he reached for a book on Arlathan.

Something thudded, like a dropped book, just as his fingers brushed the spine, and he froze. When the thud was followed by what sounded like a muffled oath, he scrambled to his feet. This was an _island_ , no one should be able to reach it. In his rush to stand, Levyn knocked over the pile of books he’d read.

“Who’s there?” the voice demanded, female and muffled and tantalizingly close to familiar.

For a brief moment, part of him wished he’d taken the staff Valor offered. But he still had his magic, regardless. Flames flickered to life in his palm as he waited without answering for the other person to come into view. If they were an actual person and not a demon trying to trick him. A shiver prickled at the back of his neck and down his spine. Even here there was no peace, even here he would have to fight. Was just a little quiet really asking so much-

The figure that finally edged around the bookshelves, staff raised defensively, was the absolute _last_ person Levyn would have expected to meet here. His hand dropped to his side, the flames dying away. He couldn’t hurt her; not on purpose. Maker knew he’d done it enough unintentionally.

“ _Trinne?!_ ”

She lowered her staff--almost dropped it--and squinted briefly before gaping at him with a look that was surely very similar to the one _he_ was giving _her_. “ _ **Jowan!?!**_ ”

Maker, he hadn’t heard that name, _his_ name, in over a decade. Not since he as good as left it for dead in Arl Eamon’s dungeon. At least, he corrected himself, not in reference to _him_. There had been that storyteller outside the rebuilt Redcliffe village... Anyone else calling him by it would have sounded odd. Wrong But not Trinne. Especially given the bear hug that followed. (He was very grateful this one didn’t come paired with a slap across the face for being an idiot. Even if he had deserved that far more than the hug at the time.) She smelled like sweat and ink, with just the faintest coppery hint of blood underneath. Just like he remembered, in other words. 

He hugged her back, felt a brief twinge of worry that she seemed even bonier than last time, before an ugly thought occurred and twisted his stomach in knots. “Wait a minute.” He pulled back enough to look at her face. Crow’s feet just starting, laugh lines, faint dark circles under her eyes... She looked almost exactly as he would have expected after a decade as a Warden. “How are you here?”

She gave him a playfully skeptical look. “What do you mean? You know mages are more aware here than people who aren’t. Unless you’re tryin’ to tell me you never actually paid attention in class...”

“No, I did, I know _that_ ,” he retorted, staring hard at her face. There were a few small white nicks along her jawline and cheekbones, scars from things too small to bother with healing magic. “I just didn’t think we could... interact like this with anything that’s not part of the Fade. Since I know I’m dreaming--” Was he? The ice from the glyph _had_ cut pretty deep... He shook off the thought. _It wasn’t **that** deep_. “...that would make you part of the Fade, which means you’re either a demon pretending to be my best friend, or you’re actually her and you’re” --the word stuck in his throat-- “dead. Maker, Trinne, if you went and died after everything we did to keep Alistair safe-”

He thought of the cave in Crestwood, of the Western Approach. Of Adamant. Of Hawke charging the Nightmare, battleaxe in hand and screaming a war cry.

Whatever consequences he’d been planning to call down were cut off when Trinne clamped her hand over his mouth. “Jowan, Jowan, _Jowan_ , no!” She shook her head with a fond smile and sighed. “Always the worrywart... I’m not a demon, and I’m not dead. I promise.”

“Well, if you _promise_ ,” he muttered sarcastically around her hand, rolling his eyes.

Trinne pulled her hand back and looked him up and down. “I don’t know what you want me to say to convince you. Encounters between dreamers aren’t entirely unprecedented, y’know.”

He did vaguely recall her telling him how her return visit to the Circle had gone all those years ago. “True. But wasn’t that thanks to a demon?”

“Oh, yeah.” She wrinkled her nose. “Guess you’ll just have to take my word, then.” 

He looked at her again, cautious nature warring with how much he missed his best friend. What few small differences were present could easily be due to the years since he’d last seen her. Especially given the life of a Warden. “...Fine. I owe you at least that much trust.”

Trinne laughed. “Great. With that settled,” she playfully flicked at the loose bits of hair hanging in his eyes, “I can tell you I like the longer hair”--she grinned mischievously--”and ask if that’s really the best you can do for a beard.”

He gave her a withering look and self-consciously rubbed the dark stubble clinging to his jaw. “Same to you, for the former, and yes, to the latter. Is it really that bad? Josephine hasn’t-” Too late he stopped himself and bit his lip.

“Josephine?” Trinne arched a brow and smirked impishly as she leaned back against the nearest bookshelf. “Who’s _that_?”

“The, uh, the Inquisition’s ambassador. She’s the, um, the one with the best handle on what’s socially acceptable in different cultures. I just figure she’ll tell me” -- _as graciously as she can,_ a besotted little voice in his head chimed in--”if there’s ever anything I need to change.” Yes, that made a good excuse. He bit the edge of his thumbnail. “Does it really look that bad?”

“Don’t _do_ that,” she admonished, reaching over to grab his wrist and tug his hand away from his mouth. “You look scruffy enough without adding rough nails to the sodding picture. And if it’s part of her job, I’m sure _Josephine_ ” --Trinne smirked as she emphasized the name in a way only best friends about to give you shit for a crush could(the last time he’d heard that tone from her, it had been uttering _My condolences, Lily,_ and he really didn’t want to dwell on that)--”will tell you if it’s a problem. Now, how exactly are you connected with the Inquisition? We heard rumors about it before we set off, but not much in the way of details. And nothing that made it seem the sort of thing _you’d_ want anything to do with.”

Maker, it was hard not to laugh. He coughed sheepishly instead. “I’m leading it, actually,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. _Or trying to..._

“Wait, you’re what?!” Trinne gawked at him, and this time he did laugh. A little, still-sheepish chuckle, but it was a laugh. She wrinkled her nose at him. “Don’t act like this is something I should’ve seen coming, Jowan. You realize now I need to know how in the Void my apostate best friend wound up _leading_ a _**Chantry**_ organization.”

“Obviously,” he deadpanned, unable to completely resist the smirk curling up the corners of his mouth.

“I figured you’d use your second chance to lay low, help people quietly.” She picked at a hangnail. “Instead, it seems like you had a very exciting ten years.”

“Not really.” His shook his head. “I _was_ laying low and everything, hadn’t even used magic for years. It’s really only the last.... year or so that got exciting...” He gave her a mid-length version of what had happened; his curiosity about the Conclave, traveling with the Ostwick delegation, the mix-up after the explosion that found him mistaken for one of the Ostwick mages, the fear of consequences that kept his mouth shut until he was stuck as Herald, Inquisitor, Savior of the World. “So really, it’s the same old story with me,” he finished wryly, “messed up, lied, wound up in way over my head.”

“Not what it sounds like to _me_ ,” Trinne shrugged. “You’re helping, aren’t you?”

“ _The Inquisition_ is helping,” he corrected, tucking loose hair behind his ear and avoiding her gaze.

“Under _your leadership_ ,” she countered, staring steadily at him even as he looked elsewhere. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“I’m not the only one in charge, Trinne,” he said with a sigh. “A lot of the time it’s just letting my advisors discuss possible solutions, then picking one and hoping it works.”

“And does it?” She was smirking like she knew the answer. 

“...Usually,” he admitted grudgingly.

“See, you’re helping.” Trinne moved over next to him and nudged his shoulder.

“Trying to. What’s the point of getting a second chance if I waste it, right? But I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time. I _don’t,_ Trinne,” he added hastily when she opened her mouth to protest. “I’ve gotten really lucky so far, but I’m terrified of the day that runs out.”

“And what if it doesn’t? What if this isn’t just a lucky streak and you’re actually good at this?”

He shot her a skeptical look and one side of his mouth curved in a wistful smile. “You have too much faith in me.”

She bumped her shoulder against his again. “Only b’cause I’m tryin’ to make up for you and everybody else not having enough.”

“In everybody else’s defense, there hasn’t been much worth having faith _in_.”

Trinne smirked. “Until now.”

He rolled his eyes and shrugged. She’d always been tenacious; he didn’t have the energy to debate this in circles. Especially not when there was a chance she would convince him. Then he’d start to _hope_ , and that would only make his next, inevitable blunder hurt even more.

“So, with all that... what brings you here? Did I just happen to stumble into a regular dream?” she asked, eyeing the stack of books he’d read as if trying to gauge how long he’d been here. “Or is this something else?”

Abrupt as the switch was, he appreciated the chance of subject, however slight, and went along with it. “I... we were fighting, a particularly powerful mage, and I... got hurt.” His hand crept toward his side even though he knew the wounds weren’t there. “I was already tired, and that just.... I passed out. Woke up, I guess you’d call it, here.”

“Oh, so you need to find your way out?” Trinne smiled brightly and pushed away from the bookshelf, reaching for his hand to tug him after her. “I can help with that.”

He resisted when she pulled on his hand. “I’m not sure I want to, Trinne,” he said softly.

“Why the bloody Void not?!” she demanded, frowning in confusion.

“Because I feel useless!” He dug his hands into his hair. “Because people keep dying despite my best efforts to _fix things_. The Inquisition would probably be better off with someone else in charge, anyway. Someone who knows what they’re doing and isn’t lying through their damn teeth.” His hands dropped and he sat down hard. “And I’m just tired, Trinne. Tired of pretending I know what I’m doing, tired of feeling like the world is sitting on my shoulders, tired of all the death.”

She looked at him for a moment, a soft but unreadable look in her eyes, then sat down next to him. She took his hand again but just held it this time, no trying to pull him up. “I know the feeling.”

There was something in her quiet tone that made him think the words were more than a little bit of an understatement. Which made sense. Mostly. “When have _you_ ever had to _pretend_ you knew what you were doing?” he asked, only half-joking.

Trinne laughed wryly. “You might be surprised.” She squeezed his hand. “But you don’t solve problems by hiding from them, Jowan.” One side of her mouth quirked in a half-smile. “That just tends to make them worse."

He snorted. “I know. But you know me; that’s how I _deal_ with problems. I run away. Leave other people” --he squeezed her hand--”to deal with the consequences.”

“And isn’t the whole ‘Levyn’ thing you trying to be a better person?” she countered, staring him dead in the eye. “So be better. _What’s the point of getting a second chance if you waste it, right?”_ She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t run away this time. That’s never really _worked_ anyway, has it? Stick it out and hope things get better, then work to make them better. That’s never gonna happen if you just sit here and sigh about how hard it is. It _is_ hard, but it’s worth doin’ anyway.”

“I really wish you could meet Sera,” he muttered, chuckling wryly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s said basically the same thing before. Recently, in fact.”

“She sounds smart. You should listen to her.”

He smirked. “And by extension, you?”

“Exactly.” Trinne stood again, gently tugging his hand until he followed her up.

“Trinne, I dunno if it escaped your notice, but even if I decided to follow your advice, we’re still stuck here,” he said, gesturing at the edges of the island and the nothingness beyond.

“No, we’re not,” she said cheerfully, tugging on his hand again. “C’mon.” She pulled him back along what must’ve been her route through the maze of bookshelves. Nestled at the opposite end from where he’d landed, there was a small font, very similar to the ones used for summoning exercises back at the Circle. Faint blue light hovered in a cloud over the bowl, looking like it should spill down, but never drifting lower than the rim.

“These can be used to travel here,” Trinne explained, waving her hand through the edges of the misty light. “You just reach into the center.” She flashed him an encouraging smile. “It’ll take you somewhere more... connected, I guess you’d say. So if you do decide you want out, it’ll be easier to find your way.”

He hesitated briefly, the cold worry this was just the trick of a demon prickling again, but that wouldn’t make sense. Why would a demon try to convince him to go back without expressing interest in tagging along? And there was nothing about her that seemed... _un-Trinne_. It was so very like her to set her gaze on a solution, an ending, and drag him along with her toward it. 

If he couldn’t trust Trinne, he couldn’t trust anyone. He pushed his unmarked hand into the center of the light. With a rushing murmur, it rose up to swallow him.

Just before the bluish-white glow engulfed him, he thought he heard her whisper. “G’bye, Jowan,” but she and the island of bookshelves were washed away before he could react.

Sure enough, when the light faded, he was somewhere new--a lumpy peninsula that jutted out over the nothingness, but was connected to a larger portion of the Fade. And he was alone. Searching the hazy green ‘sky’, he thought he could see where he’s come from, but it hung a good forty feet or more away, and he couldn’t make out if Trinne was still there. Even if she wasn’t, all that probably meant was she woke up. Nothing nefarious. Why was he so paranoid?

Levyn sighed and looked at the road (of sorts) leading off the precipice, drifting with bits of Fade-fog. He still had things to wrestle through--if his return was really in the Inquisition’s best interests, for one--but his talk with Trinne had given him some measure of hope he could be better. He could make things better. _Inches up a mountainside_ , he reminded himself. _Progress is progress._

And that hope cast serious doubt on his plan to stay here.

\---

She watched him walk away from the font, posture straighter than it had been, and sighed in relief. Him giving into despair wouldn’t help anyone, and she had a vested interest in helping him. She was grateful she’d gotten though, even if just a little.

“I am impressed,” a voice commented, and a moment later the ethereal form of a man in armor appeared at her side. “He proved resistant to my attempt at encouragement. I feared his resolve to remain would prove insurmountable.”

“Some have lower opinions of themselves,” she said with a small smile. “You weren’t wrong in what you said, he just wasn’t ready to hear it yet. Or rather, to believe it. Valor is all well and good”--her human features faded into a similarly ethereal form--”but for some, what they need more is just a little bit of Hope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My original plan was for it to actually be Trinne, because she and Jowan have an incredibly strong friendship that I love to write. But then I got the idea of making it a spirit of Hope that looked like Trinne, and liked the idea too much to pass up. And it makes sense; Trinne's a Spirit Healer and the spirits that aid her the most are Hope and Joy, so I figured Hope would have enough of a connection with Trinne to a) assume her appearance convincingly and b) care this much about Trinne's best friend. Also, there are few people who could get through to Jowan as fast and as completely as Trinne, so looking like her was a good choice for a spirit trying to get through his self-worth issues and encourage him.


	5. More Than You Think

If the other areas of the Fade had been a study in monotony, this section was trying very hard to be the exact opposite.There were no gently rolling, indistinguishable-from-one-another slopes here. Everywhere Levyn looked, the landscape seemed incapable of making up its mind. One part was an impossibly steep--almost vertical-- slope covered in seaweed-esque grass--with a complete set of bedroom furniture stuck firmly in the middle. He stared at it a long moment, trying to figure how the furniture wasn’t sliding. This _was_ the Fade, though. It wouldn’t surprise him in the furniture had ‘grown’ from the hill along with the grass.

Another was a gentle hill surmounted by what looked like the corner of a jail cell; one wall stone, the other steel bars, with a bench seat and heavy shackles bolted to the stone wall. Incongruously, the shackles swayed like leaves in a breeze as he passed, though there was no wind he could feel. Levyn shuddered, the back of his neck prickling cold at the reminder of where he _really_ belonged, for so many reasons, and walked faster.

There was a large, flat area with tall steps leading nowhere, a curving archway with a statue adhered near the top so it jutted downward. Distracted by his thoughts, Levyn almost walked into that one. He dodged at the last second with a startled yelp. Upon closer examination, the statue resembled a woman, her features either worn smooth or nonexistent, but her chin tilted up in a clearly commanding pose. She was holding a spear--staff?--in one hand, the other extended to point toward some unseen foe. It was the sort of statue he’d expect to see of Andraste--or Trinne, if she’d _let_ anyone make a statue of her.

Levyn stared at it even longer than he had the hill bedroom, wondering if there was some significance to the statue or its placement. Should this mean something to him? Or was it simply the careless creation of a curious spirit emulating things it saw in the mortal world?

As he pondered, a familiar ball of soft white light descended from above the archway. The wisp circled the statue a few times and came to rest atop the upside-down arm.

“Hello again,” Levyn said with a small smile. “I’m afraid I won’t be much more exciting now; too much on my mind.”

The wisp trilled and bobbed forward.

_**Is** it the same one?_ he wondered belatedly. But then it floated closer to rest over the same shoulder and he figured the odds were pretty good that it was. Well, if it was going to stick around despite his warning, he wouldn’t say no to the company.

Not far past the archway, he came across a shallow, curved hill fairly covered in a copse of what were almost weeping willows, but the short, dense branches near the top kept that from being a wholly accurate comparison. At the base of the slope, sheltered among the trees as if in a living gazebo, rested a bench.

The entire set-up looked so inviting, he was simultaneously convinced it was a trap of some kind and tempted to go sit there regardless. He had a lot to think about, and that was better done sitting still. If only so he didn’t actually walk into something next time. He shot a bemused glance at the wisp.

“What do you think?” he asked. “Safe?”

The wisp trilled and started a loopy, quasi-dancing path toward the bench.

It did look safe enough, and the trees concealed it from curious eyes of any spirits(or demons) that might pass by. It would be a good place to sit for a while and think without having to worry about his surroundings. The Mark pulsed faintly as Levyn followed the wisp.

As he drew closer, the branches stirred in a breeze he couldn’t feel, and he heard, whisper-soft, “ _...Inquisitor?_ ” He halted, glancing around, but didn’t see anyone the plaintive, almost pleading voice could have belonged to. With a small shrug, he started to resume course, only for it to come again, echoey and faint, but definitely pleading this time. _“...Levyn?_ ”

It sounded like Josephine.

Levyn froze for a long moment, desperately looking for whatever spirit thought it funny to so perfectly mimic her voice. Sure, it was muffled as if by distance or water or both, but that was Josephine’s voice. He certainly knew it well enough by now. There was no visible source, and after a long moment waiting for more that never came, Levyn continued toward the bench.

The wisp bounced around him like an excited puppy, slowing only slightly when he sat.

“What am I doing?” he muttered aloud. The temptation to stay here had waned somewhat after his last encounter, but was still there, niggling at the edges of his thoughts.He needed to figure things out, make up his mind.

Trinne had had a point; if the entire purpose of ‘Levyn’ and his fresh start was a chance to be better than he had been, he really shouldn’t be squandering it. He should be doing better and actually _help people_. Which he couldn’t do if he was hiding in the Fade.

He wished he’d never gone to the Conclave. Never let his curiosity get the better of him. He wished he’d just stayed in that little village, too small to even be on maps, and stuck to small-scale helping.

He wouldn’t be so stressed; pretending he had everything under control, making huge life and death decisions, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. The Inquisition would have a different leader, probably with a much better handle on what they were doing. The world would be in better hands, no relying on someone who managed to screw up seemingly everything that mattered.

But he _had_ gone. He had let his curiosity drag him out of his self-imposed exile. And now he was stuck. The only real option left before him was whether he truly believed he should just stay here, that the Inquisition would be better off without him _now_. Not from the beginning--undoubtedly a yes, in his mind--but as things now stood.

He knew he was better for having been part of it, much as his role terrified him. He was better for having been pushed, for knowing the people, for having them in his life. All of them; from Bull’s intelligence and Sera’s lighthearted nature to Vivienne’s confidence and Cassandra’s determined faith. Josephine’s political savvy....

Levyn faltered there, stuck on the many, many attributes Ambassador Montilyet exemplified. He had to acknowledge that, while all of them were fine things in their own right, the one he’d always appreciated most was her kindness. Her desire to do things peacefully, with as little bloodshed as possible. In a world strewn with so much death as to be commonplace, it had been an unfathomable relief to meet someone who avoided it whenever possible. Even when that made things harder.

He couldn’t help wondering what in Andraste’s name she saw in _him_. Unpleasant a thread as self-reflection was to tug, if Josephine had seen something worth her affection...

_But would she be better off without you?_ a little voice whispered, the words ice down Levyn’s spine. _With the opportunity to pursue someone more deserving than a lying, cowardly blood mage who got the last woman he loved-_

“Oh, you _are_ here.” The soft, familiar voice cut through the castigating train of thought, and Levyn’s head snapped up to find the speaker.

He blinked, frowned in confusion as he processed the sight. “Cole? Where did you come from?”

Cole tilted his head, studying Levyn from behind his shaggy blond bangs. “I... They were worried. You’ve been gone so long.” He picked at the side of his thumb. “And Solas wasn’t sure he could find another...” he stumbled, as if trying to recall exact wording, “ _mortal dreamer_ without entering together.” Cole’s posture and the timbre of his voice shifted. “ _The Fade is vast and rife with dangers, even for the experienced who know where to look, and what they seek. Such as endeavor would be unwise_.”

“So... you came instead?” Levyn’s confused frown eased only slightly as he parsed out where this was going. _You’re the search party. Like Cullen and Cassandra after Haven._

“Yes.” Cole met his gaze briefly before looking down at his own shoes. “I’ve been back before, with Rhys and Evangeline. And it’s easier for spirits to find our way.” He looked back up, head tilted. “Especially when we’re needed.”

His throat suddenly felt very dry. “Needed?”

“ _Wandering, wondering, wanting rest. Wanting better. For them, for her, for everyone..._ ” Cole caught his eye, hesitant but determined. “It’s not true.”

It was discomfiting and disconcerting, hearing your innermost thoughts spoken aloud--and so _easily_ \--by someone else. Levyn could see why people didn’t like it. Why Vivienne had scorned him as a demon and Sera gave him a wide berth. It felt intensely vulnerable and even here, alone, that was an uncomfortable thing.

“What’s not true?” he finally asked, sliding to one end of the bench in silent invitation. He fought the urge to pick at the scar across the back of his left hand.

Cole vanished, only to reappear perched on the back of the bench, his feet on the seat and hands cupped over his knees. “Someone else wouldn’t do better just for being _someone else_.”

Levyn snorted. “I don’t even know what I’m doing at least half the time, you can’t tell me someone else wouldn’t be a more competent leader.”

“You don’t know you just do and the helping comes from doing, one place, one person at a time, like pebbles that start a landslide-” Cole stopped, cocked his head. “No, that’s wrong... like inches up a mountainside.” He met Levyn’s eyes again. “You are _helping_ , even if you aren’t sure. Your choices help people.”

“And what about when I don’t choose?” Levyn muttered. He’d frozen up escaping the Nightmare at Adamant, forcing Hawke to be the one who charged in and made the sacrifice. “I’d rather not leave it to luck that things will work out every time.” He stared at his hands, at the green line pulsing across his left palm(at the older ugly scar mostly hidden by its glow). “Not against an enemy like Corypheus.” Corypheus who had made it clear the Anchor was stuck with Levyn until he died. _“You have spoilt it with your stumbling.”_ If that was the only thing that made him special...

_“You are the creature’s rival because of what you have **done** ,_” the memory of Cassandra’s voice, of her conviction, floated through his mind. “ _They believe you are chosen because of what you have done. What you have **inspired**. In all of us.”_

“They miss you,” Cole murmured. “They worry.”

Levyn’s brow furrowed, thrown by the abrupt interruption. “Who?”

_“Chair teeters back on two legs, why won’t he wake up, he really should wake up. Nails bitten down far as they go, can’t solve this with friggin’ arrows, how d’you fight a bad dream?”_

“What...” He had no idea how to finish that question. _Does she know you read that in her?_

It was just as well; Cole didn’t pause for long before rolling on from what were clearly Sera’s thoughts to someone else. “ _There’s so much still to do, I cannot allow myself to be distracted. We must press on, even if the Inquisitor is indisposed-- lingering close, breath warm on my cheek when we kiss, shy smiles under eyes that sparkle like he’s found something precious each time_ \-- she bites her lip and tries to push the thoughts away but they linger. Keeps calm for the sake of the Inquisition, meets with nobles, but she worries...” Cole met his gaze and held it. “You matter more than you think.”

There was suddenly and mysteriously a lump in Levyn’s throat. It took a long moment for him to find his voice. “How... how do you know?” he asked hoarsely.

“Cassandra batters a training dummy to splinters, Bull drinks til his throat burns, numbs, and burns again. Blackwall carves...” Cole’s gaze dropped as he shuffled his feet against the bench. “They worry about _you_. Not ‘The Inquisitor’. _Levyn_. They want you back. They trust you, respect you, care. You’re their friend as well as their leader.”

Levyn tried for a wry chuckle, but it came out far too strangled by emotion. “They don’t want me for saving the world?”

“That, too,” Cole nodded, spreading his hands in a faint imitation of a shrug. “They believe you can do it. But you can’t live up to that faith if you stay here.”

This time the wry chuckle came out properly. He’d had the same thought himself, but this felt like confirmation. “Nicely done.”

Cole smiled shyly. “I want to help. Like you. Fix the world. You can’t do that from the Fade.”

“You would know...” Levyn muttered, running one hand through his hair. “They really want _me_?” Having more people than just Trinne who cared about him was a novel concept. “That badly?”

“Yes.” Cole looked confused, as if he couldn’t grasp why Levyn struggled with this.

_Not all of us can literally read emotions,_ he thought but didn’t bother to point out. “Well...” It still would mean facing all the death and loss that plagued the world. Struggling to make the right call when he felt he was floundering, and with so much in the balance... The cold prickle sharpened again at the nape of his neck. _Is that really a good idea?_

_“It **is** hard, but it’s worth doin’ anyway.” _Trinne’s encouragement came back to him, alongside Sera’s casually earnest, _“Won’t know until we try, yeah?”_

“Alright,” he nodded. What was that other point Trinne had made? Hope things get better and work to make it happen? Sure, he might let down _some_ people in the process, but he’d let down _everyone_ if he didn’t at least try. Some in more ways than one. It couldn’t hurt to try. “I’ll come back. Is... how do I _do_ that?”

Cole smiled. “Just wake up. That’s all.” Then he vanished.

“Very helpful,” Levyn groaned to the air where the spirit had sat. His other visits to the Fade had been few in number; he was hardly an expert on coming and going.

_Going? And what will it accomplish if you do?_ The prickle, which had started to fade, came back, harsher, stronger, spreading down his spine and across his shoulders. _Do you really think the cowardly little maleficar, who couldn’t even tell his best friend the truth and ruined her life as a result, can handle **saving the world**?_ The cold grew so intense as to drive him to his knees. _You ruin everything eventually, so why bother trying?_

“Not this time,” he ground out between gritted teeth. “I’m not running away this time.”

An icy chuckle echoed in his mind. _Will that make a difference?_

The cold flared and he hissed out a pained grunt. The wisp floated down from wherever it had gone, trilling in what might have been concern. He hadn’t even noticed it wandering off.

“ _Yes_ ,” Levyn insisted, even as his head bowed low. “I won’t let them down this time.”

The cold seared sharp between his shoulder blades and up his neck, and he curled forward. It felt like his skin was splitting open, then, almost as fast as it spiked, the cold receded, leaving him a shivering, gasping heap on the ground.

And before him, its ragged form larger than any he’d yet encountered, hovered a Despair demon. Even as Levyn stared at it, shuddering and struggling to catch his breath, it gave an ear-splitting wail that drilled straight to his deepest insecurities. It extended one bony hand, and a gout of ice poured forth.

Levyn barely gathered his senses enough to roll out of the way in time. _I really should have taken Valor’s staff,_ he conceded to himself. The spirit’s words came back to him; that just because he didn’t wish to fight didn’t mean he wouldn’t find one. Demons didn’t care. He fervently wished he could change his answer to Valor’s offer now, as he dodged another blast of cold magic.

Something rattled behind him, and when he turned to look, a familiar twisted wood staff, surmounted by a red and orange crystal, rested on the bench. Levyn scrambled for it, struggled to his feet. The wisp danced over his shoulder as he turned, shivering but staff in hand, to face off with Despair.

His hand glowed as he summoned fire to him--”I won’t fall prey to you. _Not this time_ ”--and unleashed it.


	6. Old Habits

Despair dodged the opening burst of fire easily, floating out of the way with dreamlike languor. Ice formed on the very air around it, and the temperature in the little copse of not-quite weeping willows plunged several degrees.

Levyn summoned a barrier of his own when razor sharp icicles flew from the demon’s hand, and he slammed the butt of Valor’s staff against the ground as he dodged. Not quite fast enough; one icicle sliced into his shoulder and a second grazed his cheek.

But the barrage of orange-tinted energy that burst from the staff was enough to overwhelm the icy shield and pummel the demon in return. 

Despair wailed as it dipped toward the ground, and Levyn summoned a burst of fire to meet it, not hesitating to press his advantage while he had it. The wisp pulsed brighter at the same moment he cast, and the flames burned hotter than usual.

The demon screamed, briefly enveloped by the warm, dancing orange tongues, before righting itself and skittering free.

_You can’t win here. Who expects to beat a demon in the Fade, where they’re strongest?_ It wasn’t an actual voice, so much as a thought that pressed itself into his head.

It was a poor argument, all the same. “Someone who’s already beaten plenty who had the same advantage,” Levyn tossed back aloud. Lightning crackled around the staff’s head and he unleashed it toward Despair.

_But there you had help._ There was a taunting edge to the reminder that filled his thoughts. _You had friends_. Another torrent of ice flowed from the bony fingers. _Now you’re all alone._

The icy torrent missed, but he still felt goosebumps rise at the proximity as it encased the stone bench. Despair screeched and tried again.

Levyn grabbed at the essence of the Fade to help him move out of the way, uncertain what would happen doing this actually _in_ the Fade. He got his answer a heartbeat later, when his rushing course narrowly missed slamming him into a tree on the opposite side of the copse, much farther than that spell usually carried. He tripped over one of the floating roots and tumbled past just as Despair let out another wail and ice tracked along where he’d just been. He picked himself up with a groan, raked hair out of his eyes.

“If I am alone,” he retorted, the staff’s head pulsing as fire grew in the palm of his hand, “it’s only because you were afraid to face me when I had a friend to help.” Both just now with Cole, and earlier on the library island with Trinne, he’d felt that cold prickle, the nagging doubts that tried to isolate him from anyone who possibly cared or might help. The lesser despair demons he’d fought in the physical world did the same thing; wailed and danced and tried to lead one of their group--him, Cassandra, someone--away from the rest. Away from help. And only when they were alone would the demon unleash their full power. “You know you don’t stand a chance otherwise!”

A high-pitched wail and another blast of frost answered his accusation, forcing Levyn to scramble and drop his spell.

He ducked back through the trailing branches of another tree and summoned the spell again. His aim was hasty and shaky from the cold and the bolt of fire only grazed Despair’s trailing rags, but that was still enough for them to ignite.

Despair let out an ear-splitting scream as it burned, curling in on itself and twisting in a frantic spin. Ragged sheets and spikes of ice flared outward and engulfed the whole copse in the demon’s desperation to smother the flames.

Levyn caught sight of the wisp skittering upward as he scrambled to get out of the way. Still an ice spike lanced through his calf, and his hand--and the staff--were frozen to the adjacent tree, ice encasing the lower half of his forearm.

_Put on a brave face if you wish_. Despair swiveled to face him, bony limbs now visible through the smoking remnants of its rags. _You know it’s never been more than an act._ _A scrabbling attempt by a scared little boy trying to look like he knows what he’s doing._

Levyn’s breath rasped in white clouds through clenched teeth. If he could just _focus_ for a few seconds, ignore the biting cold and stinging pain long enough to summon a flame, he could get free. But Despair was closing in, and the agony thrumming through his leg with every heartbeat was too great a distraction. “I’m not him anymore,” he ground out. _Come on, come on._

The barest ember flickered in his trapped palm for a moment before sputtering out.

Despair was close enough now he could see the bandages swathing its face, sores and lesions peeking from underneath. Its clouded eyes burned with baleful malevolence.

_Yes, you are..._

A bony hand reached toward him, ice crystals drifting off its fingers. A kernel of warmth uncoiled and grew in his hand.

_...you always will be._

Too slow, too _**slow**_ , he only needed another heartbeat or two...

_Old habits die hard._

The cold clawing hands were too close for comfort when the ice trapping him shifted minutely. He summoned a small flare of heat and cinders with his free hand, causing the demon to reel back and buying him the few seconds he needed. He flexed his fingers to push another wave of heat into the ice around it, before grasping the staff and ripping free to drive the orange streaked crystal into Despair’s chest as it lunged.

“They can still _die_ ,” Levyn hissed between clenched teeth, fighting through the growing pain this angle brought his leg to channel the strongest fire spell he could through the staff and out the crystal.

Despair’s wailing cry was cut short as it convulsed. The withered limbs flailed, it lit orange-red from within, and the mouth gaped open for one last silent cry as it burned to cinders.

The loss of resistance, however slight, against the staff, threw Levyn off-balance and he pitched forward. The icicle snapped off from the momentum, pulling a harsh cry of pain from him before he even hit the ground.

He just lay there for a minute, hands clenched in white-knuckle fists, pulling in ragged, almost sobbing, breaths between gritted teeth. _Andraste’s **mercy** , why does the Fade insist on being so damn realistic?! Would it really be so much trouble for things to hurt less?_

However much it hurt, he’d done it. The insidious little whisper that had dogged him since he woke here was finally silent. And he’d done it himself. He’d faced his fear alone, if bolstered by the knowledge his friends cared and would help if they could. And that had been enough. Knowing they cared, that he mattered, had given him the boost his confidence and determination had needed to overcome his longstanding penchant for doubting himself. The doubts would surface again, he was sure, but never again so strongly, and he would be able to handle it.

After a moment to collect himself, Levyn set the butt of his staff against the ground and leaned on it heavily to pull himself to his feet. His injured leg gave out almost immediately, and he dropped back to his knees with a yelp. Both hands tightened around the staff, and he rested his forehead against the wood as he tried to breathe through the pain.

A soft glow entered his peripheral as the wisp drifted back down and trilled with a definite note of concern. It came to rest at eye level, bobbing gently on unseen currents.

“I’m fine,” Levyn managed. “Or will be. I’ve had a lot worse than this.”

The wisp hummed and zipped closer, brushing the graze on his cheek, bouncing off his slashed shoulder, and flitting circles around him. There was a sharp twinge from each injury as the small spirit made contact, like plucking a stand of hair, followed by a soft warmth that pulsed before fading.

Levyn let go of his staff with one hand to brush fingers over his cheek. The shallow cut was gone. A glance at his shoulder confirmed that one had mended as well.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, then gestured toward his injured leg. “Any chance you can help with that?”

The wisp circled a couple more times and cooed disappointedly bobbing in front of him once more.

_Probably too serious for so small a spirit to do much,_ he conceded. The pain had lessened by now, however, and he dragged himself to his feet again all the same. This time he stayed up, no weight on the bad leg and leaning heavily on his staff. _Hopefully that doesn’t carry over when I wake up..._ He didn’t see why it should; if his torn-open side hadn’t followed him here, it made sense his leg being impaled on an icicle wouldn’t translate back to the waking world. 

_Only one way to know for sure,_ Levyn thought wryly. And he still had to figure out how he was getting back before worrying about injures following him that would require explanation. He looked at the wisp again. It had drifted higher as he stood, maintaining an eye level position. “Don’t s’ppose you know a way I could get out of here?”

The wisp looped back and forth in a figure eight with a consolatory trill.

_Well, that’s clear enough..._ Still leaning on his staff, Levyn started hobbling away from the frozen over copse. Maybe he could find something.... He was hardly an expert, and knew the way was rarely--if ever--clearly marked, but Cole had made it sound easy. Didn’t that mean some way _out_ had to be close by?

The wisp bobbed along by his left shoulder, trailing slightly as he limped along. Levyn appreciated the company, if nothing else.

He’d barely made it clear of the icy patch when the ground seemed to shift under him, giving slightly, like hoarfrost or dry-rotted wood. He looked at his feet with a concerned frown, not at all liking this change.

“ _Inquisitor?_ ” It sounded like several familiar voices overlapping and was clearly coming from his left.

Levyn turned in that direction, wondering if it held some clue for how to leave, but the ground gave more as he did so. Off-balance from the injured leg, he teetered and fell, the ground crunching dangerously under him as he landed. Even as that triggered alarms in his head and he braced his hands to push himself upright, the ground crumbled away entirely, pitching him into a headfirst fall through empty space. He was too terrified and caught off-guard to even scream as he plummeted through the hazy green. As the green gave way to grey-black nothingness, he did recognize the irony of this occurring just when he’d resolved to go back. He wondered briefly if it was the doing of some demon that just couldn’t bear to let him go without trying _one more time_.

And then the darkness overwhelmed him, his awareness fell away, and he wasn’t wondering anything anymore.

\---

_Lavender._

That was his first clue he hadn’t tumbled straight to the Void. He could smell lavender. And under it, faintly, the sharp medicinal tang of elfroot lingered.

Hesitantly, Levyn tried to wriggle his fingers and toes. They all responded--the injured leg didn’t even hurt--though sluggishly, as if hampered by something. He curled and uncurled one foot’s toes a few more times until it sank in that the culprit was sheets.

Sheets, lavender, elfroot....

_I’m back?_ He slowly blinked open his eyes, blurry shapes and colors resolving in to his own quarters at Skyhold. The room was only half lit by a scattering of candles and the sun... rise? no, sunset from the way the beams slanted across the wall and his desk--

\--and the back of Josephine’s head as she dozed, pillowed on her arms and an impressive stack of paperwork for this not being her usual office.

Levyn smiled fondly at the sight. _Some things never change._ Turning his head slightly, he found Cassandra in the chair dragged to his bedside, engrossed in what looked to be one of her older _Swords and Shields_ volumes.

“Seeker,” he said quietly, voice raspy from disuse, and she started, the book flipping out of her hands to land pages down on the floor.

Still, she smiled when she found him watching her. “Inquisitor! Maker be praised, we worried we’d lost you.”

“Not yet,” Levyn croaked wryly. He pushed himself up to rest on his elbows and shot her a curious look. “How...” he wasn’t sure which burning question to ask first. “How’s she?” he asked, voice low as he nodded toward Josephine. It was neither of the things he'd originally intended to ask, but somehow felt more important.

“She has... carried on,” Cassandra said, smile taking on a knowing edge. “But she was afraid for you, even more than the rest of us.”

Levyn nodded, biting his lip. His arms were starting to tremble, and with some reluctance, he sank back into the pillows. “H-How did...?”

Cassandra bent to retrieve her book as she answered the half-spoken question. “We carried you back to Skyhold when you failed to wake three days past being injured. That was when Vivienne became convinced there was more to this than simple exhaustion. She was right, of course,” the Seeker absently thumbed the pages of her book, “but it turned out there was little we could do beyond wait.” Wry amusement colored her tone as she continued, “And you certainly made it an exercise in patience, Inquisitor. Three weeks,” she said, before he could even ask. “Three weeks with barely a twitch. And then Cole said he’d spoken to you and you would wake soon. But that was two days ago”--she gestured toward a window with one hand--”almost three. It drove Lady Montilyet to distraction and Sera to alternating fits of silence and babbling. Speaking of Sera, I should tell her you’re awake. Promising to do so was the only way she would leave to get rest that was not dozing in this chair. And Vivienne as well. She wished to be alerted when you returned to us.” Cassandra stood, set the book on the chair, and headed for the steps.

“I suppose it would be asking too much of Sera to request a... low key reaction?” Levyn asked. He wasn’t sure he had the energy right now to handle Sera in all her excitable glory.

Cassandra snorted. “Much too much. She’s been very worried, and I believe her relief will overwhelm any hope of restraint.”

Levyn chuckled wryly and pushed himself slightly more upright against the pillows. “I’ll brace myself accordingly, then.”

She smiled. “It is good to have you back.”

He took stock as her footsteps receded down the staircase. He hadn’t really expected a different answer to his query, not with how many times he’d noted similarities between Sera and Trinne. Best to prepare himself as much as he could. His leg didn’t hurt anymore, beyond a faint residual twinge, making him fairly sure he’d been correct and that wound hadn’t carried over from the Fade. _What about the others?_ he wondered, _from the start of this whole... adventure?_

One hand slid under the sheets and the loose shirt he now wore to feel for the injuries from Gordian’s ice mine. Between healing magic and three weeks recovery time he didn’t expect to find much. And he didn’t; there was a faint ridge of scar tissue from the wound that had been left just above his hip, but the others had all healed as if they were never there.

He withdrew his hand, tucked hair behind his ear before settling his hands in his lap to pick at a hangnail as he waited for Sera and Vivienne’s arrivals. He briefly considered throwing a pillow or something at Josephine to wake her up so they could steal a private moment before he had to deal with... everything else, but she ran herself into the ground under the best of circumstances, he hated to think how much harder she’d likely driven herself with The Inquisitor incapacitated, especially if she’d been as worried as Cassandra made it sound. Best to let her sleep while she could.

Of course, no sooner had he reached that decision then Josephine stirred. She mumbled something he didn’t catch as she rubbed her eyes and sat up. It was halfway through stretching she glanced around the room and caught sight of him. She froze. “ _Levyn?_ ”

He smiled sheepishly. “Josephine.”

She stood so fast she knocked over the chair, and for a moment Levyn thought she was going to vault over the desk instead of circle around it. But even with giddy relief dancing in her eyes and an excited grin spreading across her face, Josephine Montilyet was a _lady_. So even if her steps were quicker than strictly proper, she did skirt the desk before crossing to perch on the edge of the bed.

She started to reach for his hand, then drew back, hesitated. “This is not some pleasant dream of my own design, is it?”

He couldn’t really blame her for doubting, not after _three weeks_. He shook his head and reached for her hand. “It’s real,” he assured her quietly.

It was all the encouragement Josephine needed to grasp his hand in both of hers, shoulders slumping in relief as her thumbs rubbed caressing circles on the back of his hand. “Do not scare me like that,” she admonished, a tremor in her voice that belied the attempted light tone.

Levyn leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. ‘Y _ou matter more than you know_ ’ danced through his mind. How had he _ever_ , even at his lowest and most despairing, thought doing something that would so clearly hurt her was a good idea? “Never again, if I can help it,” he promised in a whisper.

Josephine drew a shaky breath and nodded. “Good.” She moved one hand to curl around the back of his neck, fingers tangling in loose locks of hair as she held him close. “Levyn, I-”

A door slammed, signalling the impending end of their private moment, followed by pounding footsteps and a bellowed, “ _ **Inky?!**_ ”

Sera was coming at full speed, and Josephine’s eyes sparkled with mirth as she squeezed Levyn’s hand one last time and wordlessly scooted out of the way.

Just in time, too; Sera thundered up the steps, used the banister at the top to make the sharp turn, and let her collected impetus launch her toward the bed. She bounced onto it knees-first and flung her arms around Levyn’s neck.

“Knew you’d pull through,” she gloated, hugging tight. “But maybe don’t take so long next time, yeah?”

“Next time?” Levyn managed around the ferocity of her hug, one arm circling her back, the other braced against his mattress.

“If there is one,” she corrected herself, letting go and sitting back to look him over. Her bare feet pulled at the blanket as she settled in cross-legged. “Hopefully there won’t be, but these sorta things seems’ta friggin’ happen to you a lot, Inky.”

She had a point and he couldn’t wholly resist a small chuckle. “They do, don’t they? Wonder how I make that stop.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she said with a carefree shrug, before rolling to the other side of the bed(over his legs) as Vivienne and Cassandra reached the top of the steps. “But if they stopped completely, life would get awful borin’, yeah?”

Levyn smirked and reached over to gently nudge her shoulder with his fingertips. “Never, so long as you’re in it.”

Sera grinned and retaliated by punching his arm. “s’why I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Perhaps not in the long run,” Vivienne interjected dryly. “But for now, I do need you to move out of the way so I can examine our dear Inquisitor.”

“I _am_ outta the way!” Sera protested indignantly.

“ _Off_ the bed, dear,” Vivienne clarified. “You can have your spot back once I’m satisfied he’s healthy.”

Josephine sent Levyn a quietly amused look as the grumbling elf acquiesced, then moved back to the desk herself to get on with her work. 

Vivienne’s examination was through yet efficient; checking both the progression of his injuries’ healing and for lingering ill effects from his prolonged visit to the Fade. She was apparently satisfied, especially by the healing of his physical injuries, as evidenced by the pleased smile that ever so faintly curved her lips.

“I am glad to see the scarring is minimal,” she commented as she examined his side. “The wounds were quite deep, and even with how quickly we tended to them, there was a chance for more extensive scarring or other consequences emerging.”

“Don’t like the sound of ‘other consequences’,” Levyn muttered, twisting the loose fabric of his shirt around his hand to keep it up out of her way.

“Which, I’m sure, will make it a relief that none manifested,” Vivienne said. She withdrew her hand, letting the pulse of healing magic in her palm die away. “Everything appears to have fully healed without incident, save the one scar. And you don’t seem to have acquired any demonic passengers or other unpleasant side effects from the time you spent in the Fade.” She smiled more fully, the warmth of it reaching her eyes. “I do believe you’re out of danger on all counts, my dear.”

“He’s fine?” Cassandra was the one to ask, but Sera and Josephine were clearly just as invested in the answer.

“As far as I can tell, yes,” Vivienne confirmed, with all the confidence Levyn would expect her to put behind the words. “I’m finished now, Inquisitor, you can let go of your shirt.”

He released the bunched-up fabric, his face warming as he pulled it back down and tried to smooth out the wrinkles, without much success.

“If Lord Trevelyan is indeed alright”--the relief in Josephine’s voice was almost palpable--”what does this mean going forward?” She held a quill in her hand, and even bereft of ink, the nib scratched restlessly (anxiously?) against a scrap of parchment.

“Well, he is not yet fully recovered,” Vivienne replied gently, arching a brow as she caught Levyn’s eye. “He did spend the last three weeks, shall we say, _indisposed_? An immediate return to his previously established level of activity would be unwise.”

“So he shouldn’t just jump back in to runnin’ all over friggin’ Ferelden and Orlais to fight shit and close bloody Rifts?” Sera interjected, bouncing back on the bed now that Vivienne was finished. “Gotta take it easy, yeah?”

“That would be the gist, yes,” Vivienne sighed. “Start slowly and work your way back to normal.”

“Do we have _time_ for that?” Levyn asked with a concerned frown. The Anchor prickled, and he curled his hand into a loose fist.

“It’s not a matter of time, Inquisitor,” she replied, tone gentle yet firm. “If you push yourself too hard too fast, you will simply find yourself in that bed once more, perhaps facing much longer convalescence, and then where will the world be?”

“Fine,” he sighed, raking one hand through his hair. “I get it. No pushing myself.” He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with himself to keep from going stir-crazy; he was far too used to _doing_ things now.

“I’m sure we can find ways to occupy your time,” Josephine spoke up, as if she’d read his mind.

Sera snorted. “Yeah, I _bet_ you can.”

Josephine was far too composed to blush at the clear insinuation(unlike Levyn, who was fairly sure his entire face was red), but she did briefly bite her lip before elaborating, “There is much to be done in preparation for the ball at the Winter Palace, now that we have secured an invitation, and we have but a month’s time to do it all.”

“I’d be happy to help any way I can, Josephine,” Levyn said with a smile, “since I’m banned from anything more strenuous for the time being.”

She smiled back, twirling the quill between her fingers. “And I will gratefully accept the help. We can start with paperwork and the like until you have your strength back, then take care of any refresher you may wish regarding Orlesian court etiquette and dances. I imagine those areas of knowledge were not frequently called upon in your Circle?”

_Maker_ , but he had to bite his tongue hard to keep from laughing. “You imagine correctly, Lady Montilyet. A reminder would be most welcome.”

Sera made a playful-but-serious gagging noise and scrambled to her feet. “If you two are gonna start flirtin’, I’m not stickin’ around. Got better things to do than watch you make mushy eyes, yeah?”

“In fact, it would be advisable for us to take our leave as well, Seeker,” Vivienne said. “The Inquisitor needs rest more than anything else at the moment, and I believe our steadfast ambassador is more than capable of keeping an eye on him for the night.” There may have been something approximating a mischievous gleam in her eye. Or maybe he imagined it. “Are you not, my dear?” she inquired of Josephine.

Josephine nodded. “I shall indeed, Enchanter. Though I do hope my vigil proves an unnecessary precaution.”

“As do I,” Vivienne said, with a note of good humor under the words, as she nudged both Sera and Cassandra toward the stars. “We’ll pass along word of Lord Trevelyan’s recovery to Commander Cullen and Sister Leliana.”

Josephine nodded in combined acknowledgement and thanks. “That would be a great help.” She sat at the desk--fidgeting slightly, Levyn noted with amusement--until the other women had descended far enough to be out of view and hearing both. Then she hurriedly collected her writing board, some parchment, and a pair of quills, and relocated herself to the chair beside Levyn’s bed. “I can keep a much better watch over you from here, Inquisitor,” she said innocently, though mirth sparkled in her smile.

Levyn chuckled as he smiled back. “I didn’t say a word, Ambassador.” He swept his hair over one shoulder, gathering it in his hand with a half-twist to try and contain it.

Josephine watched the motion, then plucked one of the narrow, golden-yellow ribbons from her sleeve and offered it to him. “Here.”

He really should politely decline it; he had plenty of cords for tying back his hair(provided Sera hadn’t hidden them all _again_ ), it was probably rude to take away from a lady’s ensemble, and people would find out somehow and _talk_. But it was so much like something out of the grand tales Varric liked to spin, and he’d just survived an emotionally taxing ordeal, so Levyn took the ribbon, his smile going decidedly bashful as he did. “Thank you.”

Josephine’s cheeks colored ever so faintly. “You are most welcome. Will it bother you if I write?” She nodded toward the candle atop her writing board.

He shook his head. “Not at all. It’s not as if I was planning to sleep.”

She tittered at his wry tone and bit her lip. “I imagine you’ve had your fill of sleep for the time being.”

“And then some,” he agreed as he tied back his hair. Not that he’d mention it and worry her, but there was part of him that couldn’t help wondering what would _happen_ when next he fell asleep. That was a concern for when he truly felt tired. For now.... “Did Cassandra leave her book?”

Josephine reached behind her on the chair and pulled out the slender volume. “It appears she did.”

“I’ll just read that.” It wasn’t really his first choice of genre, but it was better than the dense magic treatises or the guilt that would surely come with _The Tale of the Champion._

Josephine looked briefly surprised, then handed it over. As Levyn leaned closer to take it, he caught a glimpse of the papers on her writing board and had to bite back a smile. Among the shuffle of correspondence, there was a sketch peeking out; the sun shining between two of the mountains that surrounded Skyhold.

“Found another one?” he said idly(he hoped), with a small nod toward the sketch.

“Hm? Oh, yes.” Josephine smiled. “It was a welcome discovery, quite a beautiful sunrise.”

“Sunset.” The word was out before he could stop it, and Levyn bit his lip in consternation. “I mean, that looks like the mountains to the west, doesn’t it? So it would have to be sunset.” _As if I would ever be up early enough to see a sunrise, much less draw it._

She stared at him a moment longer, her expression inscrutable, before shaking her head as she arrived at some private decision and smiling. “A very good point. I believe you are correct. Sunrise or sunset, however, it cheered me up, which I believe was the intention of whoever leaves these for me.”

“If it served its purpose, it doesn’t really matter, does it?” he said, gaze dropping to the _Swords and Shields_ volume in his hands.

Josephine reached over and gave his arm a light squeeze. “It cheers me considerably more to have you with us once more, Levyn.”

He couldn’t help the crooked smile. “Well, you know, the world still needs the Inquisitor. And I didn’t...” He hesitated, gathered his courage. “I didn’t want to leave _you_.”

Josephine smiled, bright enough to replace the now-set sun, and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “It may be selfish of me, but I am glad.” She cleared her throat. “Now, I really do need to work on these letters, and _you_ are supposed to rest.”

“As you wish,” Levyn said, unable to keep the fondness from his voice. As he settled in with Cassandra’s book--hoping he wouldn’t be too lost jumping in the middle of the story like this--he glanced at Josephine and smiled.

It had been a struggle, getting back. He’d faced obstacles, enemies, and even his own doubts along the way. But with the encouragement of friends both old and new, he’d found his way through the unending maze of the Fade--and his own proclivity toward despair. It would take some time to recover, but he wasn’t going anywhere while the world still needed him. It was the first decision he’d made in a long time that wasn’t shadowed by even a hint of doubt or second guessing. It felt good.

Levyn stole another glance at Josephine, who was biting her lip in concentration as her quill flew across the parchment, and smiled as he settled in to read.

He was home, and whatever lay ahead, that felt very good, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's (basically) done! There's an epilogue scene I'm hoping to add if the muses will cooperate just a little bit longer, so I'm not marking it complete juuust yet, but that's more of a character scene than anything, so the main story arc is all wrapped up now.
> 
> Having Despair manifest _after_ Cole left was a very deliberate choice. I waffled back and forth on whether to let Levyn have help for that fight for a really long time, but I settled on it being more important for him to really see that he can handle things like this on his own. Even if he usually won't have to, because his friends care and have his back, he is strong enough, skilled enough to face danger like this and _win_ by himself. He's enough. That felt like the more important lesson for him to learn, given his history. (also, combat's progressively more of a bitch to write the more people are involved)
> 
> The bit about the sketch at the end is reference to the other fic I wrote Levyn, [Small Kindnesses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17154986), where he leaves little anonymous sketches for Josephine as a thank you for all the hard work she does. She thinks they're from a secret admirer(which they sort of are, though he's not leaving them with ~those~ intentions) and enjoys the mystery of it as much as the sketches themselves. (and Jowan being an artist is purely headcanon; I have absolutely no canon support for it, I just really like the idea)


	7. Epilogue

Josephine was right; there was plenty Levyn could do to help as he regained his strength. (None of it as lewd as Sera had intimated) Mostly paperwork; helping to read through the scores of letters inviting the Inquisition to salons or balls, proposing alliances, requesting help, lambasting their actions(or lack thereof) in a given region, and dividing them accordingly. The missives ran an impressive gamut of emotions and left him almost _dizzy_. Still, it was an interesting was to pass the time, and doing it meant time spent with Josephine, sometimes in comfortable silence, sometimes chatting idly as they worked, and he’d suffer several days worth of emotional whiplash for that privilege.

And when there was nothing of that sort to do, well, he had his sketchbook. Drawings of the Fade-fauna he’d encountered, as well as the wisps, Valor, the island library, and Trinne filled a dozen pages by the time Vivienne deemed him recovered enough to do more than just sit around(whether in bed or a chair within short walking distance). That marked the start of those Orlesian court etiquette lessons Josephine had mentioned, ostensibly to refresh his memory. She didn’t need to know he’d never learned anything of the sort in the first place. After all, Leliana’s investigations had found Levyn Trevelyan was taken to the Circle at a very young age; two decades of disuse was more than enough to forget a given skill. ( _”Lying by omission is still lying,_ ” a little voice he didn’t like much whispered in the back of his mind).He was a quick learner, and by the time he was allowed “light physical exertion”, he had a strong enough grasp of the basics to not make any horribly embarrassing gaffes(still and always a risk with him, but at least it wouldn’t be one made out of ignorance), and Josephine decided they were safe to move on to the other skill he needed “refreshed” before their appearance at Halamshiral--dancing.

Curiously, though she’d found agents within the Inquisition to actually helm all these lessons, Josephine’s schedule somehow always allowed her the freedom to keep half an eye on things from the sidelines. Levyn couldn’t say he minded much. Though for the dancing, at least, it was distracting to know she lingered on the fringes while he danced with someone else. After the first day’s lesson, when he was a fumbling mess for more reasons than simply not having fully recovered his strength, she left her papers where they lay to approach him.

“Do not be discouraged, Inquisitor,” she said softly, taking his hands in hers. 

_One more thing I can’t do right, what’s discouraging about that?_ It was more darkly self-deprecating than sincere, but he still shooed the thought away rather than voice it. “I want to represent us well,” he said instead, relishing the feel of her hands in his. Why had he ever considered giving this up, again? “It’s important Empress Celene listens to us.”

“You will,” Josephine murmured. “And she will. Orlesian dances are a tricky thing to master, and it is fashionable to have.... variations on the traditional steps that require the whole thing be learned anew. You just need some more practice.”

“Is that your _expert_ opinion, my lady Ambassador?” Levyn asked, twinkle in his eye.

“It is indeed, my lord Inquisitor,” she replied with a small smile. “All you need” --she pulled his hands closer, resting one on the curve of her waist and half-extending their other arms as her free hand settled on his shoulder--”is a little practice.”

And with that, she guided him through the steps of the most popular of the dances he was attempting to learn. It wasn’t perfect; he missed steps, and faltered once or twice as fatigue started to set in, but it was a marked improvement, which was no small relief.

“See?” Josephine said with a smile as they slowed to a stop. “You will do wonderfully, Levyn. I know you will.”

“A credit to my teacher, I’m sure,” he murmured, briefly resting his forehead against hers before he straightened. 

Josephine shook her head. “Do not sell yourself short,” she scolded gently. “You are more than capable of a great many things. This will just be another one on the list.”

He squeezed her hand, briefly considered kissing the back before discarding the impulse as too forward, and let go. “I appreciate your confidence in me, Josephine. I’ll endeavor to keep it from being misplaced.”

She nodded shyly, clasping her hands in front of her. “I am certain you will.”

“And _I_ am certain you have pressing matters that require your attention.” He raised an eyebrow toward her abandoned work. “Much as I enjoy your company, I shouldn’t keep you.”

Josephine blushed, ever so slightly. “Thank you, Inquisitor,”

“You’re welcome, Ambassador.” He needed to rest, anyway, which he was sure she knew. “Good luck with... everything on your plate.”

She chuckled. “Thank you. Go get some rest.”

He gave an abbreviated bow and weary smile. “That’s the intention.” _After one quick stop,_ he amended mentally, fingering the folded sketch in his pocket as he left the room. Unlike most of his loose sketches, this one wasn’t for her. The Undercroft was only a short detour, as Skyhold’s layout went, and one he could probably manage if he kept a hand to the wall.

Harritt looked surprised to see him, but still flashed a brief and gruff smile. “Afternoon, Your Worship. Surprised t’ see you down here so soon, if y’ don’t mind my sayin’.”

“Not at all,” Levyn waved his concern off with a sheepish smile. “Truthfully, I’m supposed to be getting more rest now. But I had something I wanted to ask you about crafting.” He tugged the sketch from his pockets and unfolded it. “You’ll likely need Dagna’s help.”

Harritt grunted at that and glanced at the dwarf, who was so absorbed in whatever she was researching she didn’t even look up. “Lemme see...” He was silent for a minute as he looked over the slightly smudged sketch. Levyn picked the side of his thumb as he waited, and finally Harritt gave another grunt and nodded. “This should be doable. I’ll definitely need our noble arcanist’s help, though. This for you?”

Levyn nodded. “Thought it was time for something new.”

“This is somethin’ new, alright,” Harritt said approvingly, pressing the sketch flat against his anvil. “Looks like a right fierce hero’s weapon.”

"Yes." Levyn smiled and glanced at the sketch--a familiar staff of twisted wood, with a crystal at the top and a short blade at the bottom. “That it does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand _now_ we're done! Many thanks to anyone who read and commented. <3 This was super fun to write, so I hope y'all enjoyed it as much as I did.


End file.
